Whoops, I really need to pick this up. What kind of woman am I if I can’t keep the promises I make to myself?

It’s been forever. And I turned 30.

Also, I am officially way past the age of calling myself a girl, so from now on I will refer to myself as a woman, as dreadful as that sounds. Oh, how I loved being just a girl.

Life has been interesting, I would say, a little bit underwhelming and disappointing, but oh so great in so many other ways.

I’m convinced life would be simpler if you had fewer people to disappoint you.

But then, a life with little to no one around is just empty, I guess.

I guess that’s one of the terrible things about life—that everyone’s going to disappoint you. You just have to figure out who’s worth tolerating.

I’m not fine. 

Maybe this is the process. I’m in so much pain that my only outlet is to scream murder into my pillow. Maybe it gets worse before it gets better. 

The universe keeps playing against me. It keeps reminding me and showing me things I’d rather not know and would like to forget. 

I’m messing up. I’m missing out. I am unable to show up for myself. I feel weak. 

This was anything but mutual. Maybe that’s why it’s hurting so much. This isn’t something I’d have ever chosen for myself. I did this for him because this is what he wanted. I did it anyway, even if it would break me. He needed to be free from me. 

I feel anxious. Every breath is too loud. I want to be strong; I’m trying to be. It’s taking everything from me to be strong right now; I have no other choice. 

I feel like I got stuck in unrequited love after being pulled into it. 

I’m in pieces. 

Today nearly killed me. It’s finally hitting me.

I’m in pieces.

Friday. Weekends will no longer be war zones. 

I have my shoot early this morning, and I am unable to sleep, nor am I able to write because I am obviously sleepy and tired. So my brain is kind of done.

I did get that haircut—a little dramatic, but I love it. 

Something I hated about yesterday was having to explain to certain people why he’s no longer in my life. I wish I had a nicer explanation that didn’t hurt me every time I spelled it out. I just had to walk away, saying I don’t want to talk about it anymore. 

I can’t explain to people why he couldn’t love me because I don’t know it myself. And if I start wondering, it will absolutely wreck me, and I can’t afford that. Every time I think of him, I think of murders; that is the most disturbing thing that ever comes to my mind and terrifies me, but only something as strong would knock him out of my head. So I do what I do.

I would really like to sit and really sink in the pain and the aftermath of it, but I think I’d just be too vulnerable if I did that, and maybe it’s too soon. 

In all my years of dating and relationships, this is the most worthless a man has ever made me feel. I’m very aware of it; it doesn’t break my heart to think of it that way; it’s just what it is. 

He left me, proving how typical every man is. People always fall in love with the idea of me, and my reality is always too much. They get caught up in it at first; they try, but then they realize, nah, not for me. And there I go, disposed. 

It hurts to write these. It hurts knowing people would read this and maybe think, poor girl. Poor girl indeed. 

I will be fine. I know. 

New day. The world doesn’t seem to stop for my torn heart. It’s okay. I’m okay. 

I’m just getting by with the help of my friends. They are saving my life, even though they don’t know it. Also, I think moving on from someone who doesn’t love you is so much easier than any other circumstance. Like, how would you ever justify being sad about it? You can’t, so the sadness kind of disappears. It’s the attachment, and still finding them in your jokes, stories, and memories, that’s the most difficult to get rid of.

But surely with time, that will go away too.

I’m doing better than I thought I would, and I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m just so glad. 

Life goes on.

I’m also getting a haircut today; I want to do something dramatic. I don’t know. Will decide then. 

It’s so silly how, at the end of a relationship you gave your all to, you feel so helpless. You almost feel as if this relationship would take away your identity. It wouldn’t. 

I’ll do what I do best. I’ll write about my pain. 

For the longest time, I thought if I could just show them how much they meant to me and how much I loved them, that would make them stay. I’d be sinking in quicksand, being so anxious about the ways they could leave me, that I’d just quickly try to reprimand them, when really I’ve known all along that it’s best to let people go. You can’t make people stay. What’s meant for you will stay. You can’t force love. 

For the first time since I blocked his number, my heart started skipping beats—and not in a good way. I had just realized that it’s been hours since he hasn’t tried to reach me. Not that I had hoped and prayed he wouldn’t, because that would be easier on me. He would have nothing nice to say.

There was this one time I called him in tears and begged him to bring me some peace, and I had childishly asked, “Please say something nice before you hang up”. And he had no words. 

I’ll mourn the love I had for this man, but I won’t mourn the way he loved me, because he loved me so little and almost cruelly. It broke me. Sometimes not being loved enough is what shatters you.

Ending it is a choice I made to not stay broken. I’m flawed, but I don’t need to be with a man who criticizes everything I am. It almost sinks me to know he’d just be relieved this is over. So am I. 

I’m allowed to spiral a little, maybe even feel lost.

Walking away from everything you wanted can be painful, but that’s okay.